


Treat Me Nice

by ArtHistory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Decadence, Eating, Falling In Love, Fallout Video Game References, Fallout:New Vegas References, Gay Male Character, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Love, M/M, New Vegas, Rimming, Sex, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Ceran Lynch is a King. Gil Raine is a feral mailman. A Fallout: NV inspired fic for my very dear buddy. Romantic with a kinky ending. Please enjoy!
Relationships: Ceran Lynch/Gil Raine, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Treat Me Nice

He was consistent, Ceran had to give him that.

The little blonde waved through the glass doors of King’s School of Impersonation, mailbag slung over his shoulder, no less than four guns jangling on full, pale hips. A bit of ivory midriff peaked through what was clearly a slightly singed, bullet-holed stained shirt. Ceran could only chuckle as it took the smaller man a few moments to figure out the pull door, one of the other King’s gang members flicking his eyes to Ceran, quietly informing him that if his boyfriend broke the lock  _ again _ he’d be paying for it.

Ceran didn’t have too much time to worry, seeing as gloved hands were wrapping around the back of his neck, a slim body pressing with desperation against his own. Pink, dusty lips planted themselves eagerly on his own, before making the rounds of his cheeks, chin, and handsome jawline, leaving the towering elf giggling more than he’d admit. Clawed hands settled on the mailman’s peachy behind, that blonde heard burying itself into Ceran’s broad, beefy chest as the hands around Ceran’s neck worked their way down his back to rest at his sides.

“Got more Snack Cakes for you.” Gil said, finally, burying his little chin into Ceran’s cleavage as he looked up mischievously, nimble fingers squeezing at the barely-budding love handles beginning to stretch the white fabric of Ceran’s tee.

Ceran’s laugh turned a bit more breathy, Adam’s apple bobbing as he sent a grin towards the other gang member before taking Gil by the hand.

“Come on...let’s get you uh...cleaned up.”

They’d be going at this for a while now.

‘The Courier’, Anais, one of the doctors of the Followers of the Apocalypse, had called him, the little mailman scampering about the camp, passing out letters, supplies, and various boxes and bags as Ceran and a few other Kings helped reset one of the tents there.

“Well, shoot, I’ll call him whatever wants me to.” Ceran had joked, catching the pale, younger man’s eye and shooting him a wink, the warmth of his smile sending a blush all the way up Gil’s body. 

Gil came back the next week, and the week after that, and the week after that, each time trying to bring a little trinket out of the Wastes to leave with Anais to give to Ceran. An old Nuka-Cola truck. A golf driver. A tiny, replica dinosaur.

The Kings were there to keep Freeside free, keep it afloat, so there wasn’t too much time for debauchery that didn’t include whiskey and crooning out the blues. Meals were consistent, but bland, usually made up of whatever the Followers could harvest and whatever anyone in town could hunt. It was enough. But if someone wanted to thank a King with an extra gift, that was fine. It was usually caps, or a trinket. But sometimes Ceran wanted to ask for...more.

The photos that were hanging in the halls of the King’s School of Impersonation of The King himself were all tight- waisted and no-hipped. But elsewhere, Ceran had seen...other photos. Photos of The King during his later shows. Overfed. Glutted. Rounded. Hips and gut and chin so exceptionally rotund that Ceran couldn’t help but wonder what decadence had come his way.

And maybe that was why he need to talk to him, after weeks of receiving presents, why finally he made his way to the Old Mormon Fort. Because of box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes.

Their paths finally overlapping, Gil nervously handing the box to Anais, not realizing Ceran was there until the broad, muscular elf was striding confidently towards him, leaning onto one of many crates, popping his hip so his wide, round, full ass bulged out so very decadently behind him.

“Now how did you know these were my favorite?”

Gil babbled, flushing, Ceran taking a moment to note the bullet scar over his right eye, a shot to the head probably contributing somewhat to the little blonde’s lack of tact as he said:

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I want to give you the whole world.”

The whole world, apparently, contained quite a lot of snack cakes.

Gil had emptied nearly two dozen boxes at Ceran’s feet the following week. They’d kissed, with more need, more heat than Ceran had expected, Gil rolling the big elf over and bouncing, kneading his great, wide, caramel ass before pressing his cheek to it, kissing and worshipping and covering it with marks like it was his purpose on this Earth.

“I’m going to give you everything.” The little mailman promised, entwined in the elf’s arms, his eyes full of stars in the darkness, the fluorescent lights of Vegas shimmering over the walls of the Strip, dancing over their naked forms.

Ceran sucked in a breath, looking down at the wide, stuffed mound of his gut under the neon. They’d gone through six boxes, every ounce of them sitting packed beneath the tight, quivering flesh of what an hour ago were abs.

He’d eaten the remaining boxes the next night, alone. And while it wasn’t the same, the tight, stretched heat of his building, swollen gut was enough to have Ceran’s nerves shocked out of existence, pleasure blinding him as he puffed out strained belches spread out in his bed.

Every time Gil was dropping off more and more, and while it was easy to hide when it was just swelling out his muscular ass into two, pillowy mounds of wobbling pudding, now that the weight was spreading, eyes were beginning to drift their way.

Gil certainly wasn’t helping, the feral little creature’s hands smoothing to the round, solid lump of caramel burying Ceran’s abs, pressing into as they strode to his room.

“There’s more of you now.” Gil said, bluntly, beaming.

“Yeah, you’re making me fat.” Ceran said, voice tight, blood pounding, daring to smooth his paws to either side of it, bunching up the fat at his gut to make it look even larger, doughier, Gil’s jaw dropping, hands immediately  **latching** onto the perfectly  **squeezable** lard before him.

“Your chest is bigger too. And your sides…” Gil trailed off, hands finding those love handles again before slotting himself up behind the elf, hands sinking lower to wobble the elf’s enormous ass from side to side, eagerly pressing himself tighter and tighter into the endless decadence of him, Ceran quickly leading them inside.

In an instant Ceran’s gut was pinning Gil to the door.

“Fuck, made me so fucking fat.” Ceran gulped, panted, those paws at his tits now, pressing ,squeezing them together as he buried Gil’s face between them. The mailman’s muffled moan was loud enough to get Ceran’s ears twitching, a groan of his own escaping as Gil’s little hands tore at Ceran’s shirt, mouthing, sucking, teasing as much of the elf’s softened tits as he could. 

Pushing forward, Gil’s mouth never left the elf’s body as they walked back towards Ceran’s bed, falling back into it, Gil made quick work kissing his way down to the elf’s deepened navel, tongue flicking into as his hands worked, kneaded the decadent excess built up over once proud, powerful abdominal, turned to rich, sweetened mouds of fresh cream.

“Hah! Fuck! Ceran!” Gil breathed, leaning up to straddle the man’s thighs before tearing at the button around his waist, tugging him to sitting, both man gasping as so much trapped elf suddenly bulged free, launching another intensive round of kissing that pants, tops, and gun holsters flying.

“Gods I...Ceran your  **ass** .” Gil huffed and puffed, sitting back, naked, on his heels, looking at the wide, twin hills of perfect lard bulging out before him.

“You’re so goddamn  **big** . So  **fat** . I just wanted to spoil you, and now...now you’re so fucking  **soft** .” Gil said, hands reaching out shakily to squeeze, knead all that warm caramel before him. At the slightest wiggle of Ceran’s hips, the wide, endless sea of elf  **quaked** beneath his hands, his cheeks as Gil  **pressed** himself close to his gorgeously fattened partner. Gil’s arms spread wide, stretching out and  **clapping** to either cheek before spreading, worshipping the walls of his lover’s ass, tongue flicking, working open Ceran’s tight, puffy hole as those hands circled up and around, measuring the man’s hips and wobbling his love handles before darting himself in.

Ceran cried out, Gil’s mouth wicked and clever as he feasted, the elf’s cock pulsing as he felt his entire form  **shake** from the force of his aroused thrusts backwards into his lover’s handsome face. He was fat now. Truly softened, widened, rounded all over to the point that even a puddle of affection beneath his chin was  **wobbling** in these heated moments.

He had tits. Love handles. An ass that could break a Brahmin’s break.

He had a gut. A second chin. Arms padded to the point that he  **looked** swollen, overfed, spoiled - 

**Fat** .

Ceran’s hands reached hurriedly for his pre-cum slicked cock, only made more feral, more wild as he felt his gut and tits  **squash** together between his padded biceps, it only took a few pumps before his eyes were rolling back, lightning flashing through his veins as Gil’s tongue thrusted into him. Ceran purred, roughly bit his lip as he felt the little blonde straddle him, hotdogging his wide, heavy cheeks for barely a minute before painting his ecstasy across Ceran’s lower back, collapsing atop him like a toppling tower of lust.

Ceran let out another purr as he felt Gil’s hot, panting breaths steady along his spine, soft kisses planting themselves along any centimeter of tanned elf flesh they could find - and there were plenty of them.

“I’m going to give you everything. Everything.” Gil promised, little hands smoothing over Ceran’s sides, rubbing wide, round circles along the bulging sides of Ceran’s gut.

And boy, did Ceran ever believe him...


End file.
